


I'll Follow You

by MarryDiamond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Endverse Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sad Ending, Sad and Happy, Slow Dancing, Swimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarryDiamond/pseuds/MarryDiamond
Summary: Dean teaches Cas how to dance.In the End Dean and Cas are two entirely different characters from who they used to be. This story tells you how they got there.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	I'll Follow You

**Author's Note:**

> This contains minor spoilers for Season 5 episode 4. 
> 
> I've worked on this for a long time, and I'm so glad to finally get it out. Please enjoy.
> 
> Warning: This takes place in the endverse, and it is about how Dean and Cas became who they are in the End. As such it does not have a happy ending, but it includes happy moments which made it worth writing, and - I hope - will make it worth reading.

Dean kicked open the cabin door, clutching a fresh wound on his shoulder.

“Cas!” he yelled into the room.

“Yes Dean?” Cas strolled into their shared living room, folding what looked like a black T-shirt. He was wearing a loose-fitting shirt with no collar and sleaves that flared out, his blue jeans frayed at the bottom. Dean still wasn’t used to seeing him without the trench coat.

Cas’s eyes drifted to Dean’s hand that now had blood seeping between his finger tips and down his arms. “What happened?” he said, setting the shirt down on their worn sofa and approaching him with a look of concern.

“Crote got me at Walmart,” Dean said. Unbeknown to Dean, one of his men had been infected by a crote while on a food run. An hour later, Dean was yanked onto the ground and he found himself face to face with Jason, eyes wide and frothy saliva pooling into the corners of his raised lips. Dean had managed to knock him down, drag him behind an abandoned car, and snap his neck. But not before Jason had sliced through Dean’s arm. “Can you heal it?” Dean continued.

Cas came closer and gently pulled Dean’s palm from his arm, inspecting the wound beneath. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Are you…” Cas trailed off, the word ‘infected’ not meeting his lips.

“No. Just a cut, I didn’t get any of his blood on me.”

Cas stared at the wound, frown still etched in his brows. “You’re sure?”

Dean rolled his eyes. As if he were stupid enough to not know for sure.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Dean said.

Cas didn’t look appeased, but he nodded and then placed his hand over the wound, cupping it but not touching it.

“Was it someone we know?” he asked.

“Jason.” He’d been one of the older men from their camp, Team Free Will. He’d been with them for about six months. Dean found him odd in a charming sort of way. Jason used his spare time to knit various articles of clothing, and he’d leave them on cabin doors for people to find later. Dean got a scarf and Cas a pair of socks.

Dean found it uncomfortably easy to brush off Jason’s death. He’d lost so much in the past year. Ellen, Jo, and Bobby all died violently. And Sam… well he was somewhere else. All Dean had was Cas now.

Cas’s eyes squinted in concentration. His lids were wrinkled, and he had heavy bags under his eyes. His beard was shaggy, Cas not yet handy or patient with a razor, shaved rarely. Several months ago, when they discovered Cas’s hair was actually growing, Dean had shown him how to use a razor, but that had ended in a bloody cut on his cleft chin. After that Cas wasn’t really interested.

The hand over his wound pressed a harder. Nothing was happening, which was unusual; Cas’s healing mojo was usually instantaneous.

“What is it?” Dean said shifting his weight.

Cas ignored him, eyes remaining on the wound. He raised his other hand and laid it over the first. Dean could only feel a tingly sensation, like blades of grass brushing against his skin. It was possible he was just imagining it.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. The muscles on his cheeks stood out as he clenched his jaw. “It’s not working.” He said, now closing his eyes. A minute passed with nothing but continued bleeding, the drops now dripping off his arms and onto Dean’s boots

“Cas?” Dean said.

Cas let out a breath in frustration as if he’d been holding it. He dropped his hands, and turned away from Dean. Cas went to their bathroom, placed in between their two bedrooms, and reappeared a moment later with a small white cloth in his hand. Cas covered the wound with it and pressed down.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to heal you,” said Cas not meeting his eyes.

Dean took hold of the cloth. “Oh.”

“I believe I’m losing my powers.” Cas dropped his hands to his sides.

It was something they had both seen coming. He no longer used his angel mojo to blast a demon’s brains out their ears. Last time he did it they were in the middle of fighting off three demons. As soon as the demon’s eyes flashed and burned, Cas fell onto his hands and knees, incapable of doing anything else. Dean stood over and fought the remaining demons.

On the drive back from that fight, Cas remained completely silent, and when they got back to their cabin, he went straight to his room without a word. Now, Cas used guns, swords, and fists. He was good at it, but it was strange to see him using brute force instead of his powers. Even Cas’s wounds, which would usually heal within seconds, started taking longer and longer. The cut on his chin remained for two days, before it completely disappeared.

Dean didn’t like to think of Cas without his powers. It wasn’t him. He was a battle hardened, nearly emotionless, socially awkward angel warrior.

Cas’s eyes dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped.

Anger boiled in Dean’s stomach.

“It’s fine,” Dean said, “I’ll just go to Andrea’s.” Andrea was their camp doctor. Normally Dean would take care of his own cuts, but this one was deep enough that it needed stitches, and Dean couldn’t reach it.

“No, I’ll do it.” Cas said, grabbing their medical supplies from the bathroom. Cas sat at the dining table in the center of the room, which was basically an old wooden picnic table. He shoved Dean’s green satchel and an angel blade to the side to place their medical box.

“Okay,” said Dean sitting next to him, leaning back against the table and resting his injured arm on the surface next to Cas.

To Dean’s knowledge, Cas had only ever watched Andrea stitch someone up, but never actually done it himself. Dean wasn’t overly confident in Cas’s abilities to do the procedure, but he knew Cas wanted to help. He knew what it felt like to want to be useful.

The first stitch was always the worst, but the next few turned into a dull throb as the whole area became massive hot pain. Dean bit his lip hard and closed his eyes. By the time Cas tied the last knot his hands were shaking. Cas exhaled heavily through his nose in relief. “Done,” he breathed.

Dean went to their kitchen area, attached to the main living area and divided by an L-shaped counter. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured it over the wound. The pain lit up like a sparkler, bright, fizzing, and crackling. It was all Dean could see for a moment. When it turned to a dull burning ache, he released his breath and opened his eyes. His shirt sleeve was bloody and now wet with vodka. He went to his bedroom to change his shirt. His bedroom had two wardrobes, which he never touched, and a queen bed with a bedside table. He had a small window that looked out into the forest away from the camp. He’d strung two wires across the room so he could hang his cleaned clothes to dry. He threw his bloody shirt –it was one of his favorite led zeppelin t-shirts – onto his dirty laundry pile in the corner and grabbed a black one off the wire.

He exited the room thinking he needed some of that vodka. He poured some into a plastic cup. Cas was hunched over on the bench, elbows on his knees, and the butt of his hand buried in his eye sockets.

Because it looked like Cas needed it, Dean poured a second cup of vodka.

He brought them both over to the table and nudged Cas on the shoulder. “Thanks Cas,” he said. Cas dropped his hands from his face and took the cup, without looking at him.

Dean knew that Cas wanted to talk. He could tell by how he stared down at his vodka, by his eyes, open like a corpse and staring off into nothing. Dean also knew that nothing he said could make Cas feel any better. He was about to excuse himself to his room when Cas opened his mouth.

“I’m useless without my abilities.”

The air suddenly felt thick.

“I’m a ‘baby in a trench coat,’” he continued, “You were right.”

Dean downed the vodka, to hide the annoyance in his expression. It had been a joke. Cas had temporarily lost his powers because of some sigils that surrounded the area. It was frustrating not having the convenience of Cas’s powers. So, Dean had teased him.

“I say a lot of shit,” Dean said. He poured himself another shot and took it. He’d have to do at least two more shots before he really felt anything. Cas hadn’t said anything. From the look on his face Dean knew he should say more. “You’re just human,” he said, “Everyone has to deal with it.”

Cas stared down again with his dead eyes.

“I’m worse than human,” he said, “I can’t do the things that you can do. I can’t shoot a gun well, I can’t cook without burning things, and I can barely use a razor.”

Dean didn’t have anything for that. It was true.

“You can put up a pretty good fight,” he finally said, “Better than most people in the camp.” That was true at least.

Cas still stared down at his cup, not seeming to be affected by Dean’s words.

“I can’t hear them anymore. My brothers and my sisters. Did you know?”

Dean didn’t answer, the question didn’t seem directed at him.

“Do you know what it’s like to have thousands of whispers in your head all the time? The ones you love, talking and arguing. They’re all there with you all the time. Never at peace yet never alone. Even if they hate you, you still know that they are there that you’re connected. But now…” his eyes weren’t dead anymore, but they squinted as if trying to see an ant crawling between the floorboards. “It’s silent,” he said, “There’s nothing. Nothing there. It’s so silent I can barely stand it. How do you deal with the silence every day? How does it not drive you crazy?”

Cas turned to him, seeming to expect an answer.

Every word Cas said stung, making the guilt boil in his stomach. Dean didn’t have an answer. Dean had grown up his whole life with his dad or brother in a motel bed next to him. When the sound of their breath, their snoring was gone, Dean couldn’t sleep. In some small way Dean could relate to this feeling.

And it was because of Dean that Cas had to feel it. Cas didn’t pull Dean out of hell, he traded places with him.

Cas turned back to his cup. “I feel like I’m dead.”

Dean poured another cup of vodka and downed it as quickly as he could. He remembered all the things that got them here. Dean brought Sam into hunting. Dean got their dad killed. Dean turned Cas against his family. Dean started the apocalypse. This was his fault. And the angel who rescued him from hell suffered the consequences.

Why was Cas rubbing his face in it? Why were the mulling over something so depressing?

He threw his cup into the sink and it clattered stupidly and unsatisfyingly.

Why couldn’t Cas just suck it up like they all did?

“Jesus Cas, get over it. No wonder they left. They’re probably glad to be rid of you,” he said. It felt good. But only for a second.

Cas’s shoulders tensed and seemed to wrap protectively over his chest. Shame replaced his mournful expression. Cas finished his shot, muttering, “Thanks for the alcohol.” He stood up and walked toward the door of the cabin.

Realizing what was happening Dean jumped toward Cas and put a hand over the door handle, “No!” It was all he could think to say.

“Dean!” Cas said angrily, his back stiff and fists clenched, a posture he saved for the monsters and demons they interrogated. His voice lowered dangerously, “You’re not going to let me leave?” It sounded like a challenge.

Dean rattled through his mind for words that he needed, that weren’t the desperate words, _Please_ _don’t leave me_ that repeated desperately in his mind. “Where are you going to go?” Dean said instead, not moving a muscle.

“I can stay with Liz,” Cas said through his teeth.

Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to get his heartbeat out of his ears. He imagined being in his room at night, the darkness and silence that Cas was talking about, filling him until there was nothing left, like his bed was going to swallow him into this dark black hole. He’d become the insignificant nothing that he always knew he was. This feeling could only be stamped out by knowing Cas was in the room next to him.

He forced his voice to soften. “Just…” he floundered, “please stay.”

Cas stared down at the doorknob, and Dean dropped his hand feeling guilty. Cas turned to meet Dean’s eyes, searching. The look felt so probing that Dean had to drop his gaze and he hated himself for it. He couldn’t face the pain that he’d put Cas through.

Cas turned away from the door and made his way into the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of vodka, and took a swig. Dean scrambled to find words to express how he felt, to offer Cas some kind of consolation. But as usual he couldn’t get any of the words out. They were all there in jumbled disorder, but they were held in the back of his throat.

They stood in silence. The cabin creaked around them with the wind. Faraway drunken laughter breached their broken windows. A rat scuttled beneath their floorboards. Dean managed to say, “Cas…” but trailed off. An apology would be useless.

Cas just nodded.

A tense fog seemed to permeate through the room, suffocating them both. Cas’s shoulders were pulled in over his neck making him look small as he leaned over the kitchen counter. Dean shoved the chair that had been leaning on, and paced around the room, trying to just _breathe_.

As he wandered, his eyes fell on an old CD player sitting on a side table next to the entrance. A couple of CD’s were balanced on top, and a layer of dust coated the entire thing. He’d seen it a while ago and had made a note to see if it worked, but had never gotten around to it. He picked up one of the CD’s, and brushed the dust off on his shirt. It was a CD without album artwork, it only had the words _Blues_ written in a messy scribble. He found another labeled _Jazz._ The last two CD’s were professional albums, one by Eric Clapton and the other by the Penguins. Not bad music.

Thinking maybe he could save this night with some decent music, he picked up the player and set it on the table. He plugged the cord into their solar pack and set the CD’s aside. Upon turning the volume button, he felt a soft click, and a little green light appeared next to the nob.

“What are you doing?” said Cas.

Dean didn’t trust what would come out of his mouth, so he just shrugged.

Dean popped in the first CD labeled “fav. Blues”, and pressed play. A soft rhythm and a slow guitar solo filled the room. It wafted away the suffocating fog and replaced it with something much more bearable. A mournful and raspy voice joined the guitar. Dean closed his eyes as the voice seeped under his skin, down into his muscles. His heartbeat slowed, and the air was easier to breath.

Halfway through the song, he felt Cas sit down on the bench next to him, his body heat warming Dean’s side. The song was long, and he let it pass through him, lifting him up and down like a wave just before it breaks.

As the song ended, Dean opened his eyes, feeling significantly calmer. The music seemed to have a similar effect on Cas, as he was leaning his back toward the table, elbows resting on the surface, and head lulled to the side as if he were basking in the sun. Cas, sensing Dean’s attention, glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. Cas’s lips lifted into a small smile. Dean felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

B.B. King’s _The_ _Thrill is Gone_ was the next on the track. Dean knew this one. His lips curved upwards as the song not only stirred his mood, but also a brief happy memory.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve danced to this before, haven’t you?” It took Dean a moment to process how creepy this was. Dean had never told Cas about that. But Cas had acquired scattered knowledge of Dean’s memories from the times he’d been in Dean’s head. And perhaps during the trip from hell to earth. Dean wasn’t sure how extensive that knowledge was.

“Dammit Cas, you shouldn’t know that.” Dean said, trying to keep the hint of anger out of his voice. At least Cas had the decency to look guilty about it. Considering what an asshole he’d been to Cas, Dean decided to let it go.

He sighed and said, “Yeah, I have.”

Cas nodded, and stared up at the ceiling. Dean was wondering if he was imagining the same memory.

Dean was in his late teens and was dancing with a pretty girl with light brown skin and dark hair. She had her hand in her thick curly hair and gave him a look that could bring him to his knees. It was a smile that lifted her entire face and made her eyes squint. It had a mischievousness, like she was planning a prank on him. Instead of leading her properly, he pulled her into his chest and kissed her. She kissed him back, then, with a smile, shoved him away with a hand on his chest.

Dean wondered if Cas was going to ask about the girl. He and Cas avoided talking about the past most of the time. It just brought up painful memories or regrets. Dean had too many to count. He suspected that Cas had a few too.

“Will you teach me?” Cas said.

 _That_ was definitely not what Dean expected.

Cas must have been joking, perhaps to lighten the mood even more. Dean put on grin in response. But when Cas’s gaze remained steady and curious, Dean’s grin faltered.

“What?” Dean said. The edge of Cas’s lips twitched.

“I’d like to learn.”

“Why?”

Cas shrugged. Such a noncommittal gesture looked awkward on him.

“No,” Dean said as if the answer were obvious. It was such a random request. Dean taught Cas lots of things, how to cook, how to shoot straight, how to lie, but never something so non-utilitarian.

Dean had taught Sammy once when they were young – Dean shoved that thought away, not bearing to think of his brother.

But this was Cas, a battle-hardened angel. Why would he want to learn?

When he saw Cas’s face fall in disappointment Dean said, “I don’t get it. What could you use that for?”

“It just seems fun,” Cas said. “What did you use it for?”

Dean thought for a second. “Sex.” Was that why Cas wanted to learn? He had been experimentally flirting with some of the women in their camp, and to Dean’s surprise he was good at it. Maybe he wanted to impress them?

But, Cas’s face reddened at the ‘S’ word. A prude as usual. “Never mind,” Cas said turning away, giving up. The fleeting happiness had left his face, and Dean’s heart fell.

“Okay fine,” Dean said, determined not to let the night end on a bad note. “I’ll teach you the basic.”

Cas’s blush faded as he watched Dean stand up. “Really?” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, not a big deal.” Why did it feel like a big deal? Dean motioned with his head that Cas should stand up, and Cas followed.

“This is blue’s music, so I’ll show you a couple of blue’s basics,” said Dean. The music seemed to easily guide Dean into the steps he hadn’t done in years. Dean had done this step so many times with that girl, it felt like he’d done it yesterday. Sidestep to the bass and pulse with the snares, then repeat. “It’s a simple weight change from one foot to the other.” Dean said.

Cas watched Dean’s feet carefully then tried himself. Cas began swaying from side to side as if he were prom dancing without a partner. No pulse in sight. This was going to be harder than Dean thought.

“Right but you need to add a pulse to it,” said Dean. At Cas’s confused expression Dean said, “Have you ever seen Hitch?” He was thinking of the scene where Will Smith’s character Hitch showed his client how to dance “safely” in front of his date. Side step _snap,_ side step _snap._ This was similar to what Dean was doing.

By Cas’s blank stare, Dean knew it was a stupid question. The only movies Cas had ever seen were ones that Dean made him watch.

“Who is that?” Cas said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s a movie. Never mind.” He restarted the basic step but this time slowing it down so Cas could see. It bothered Dean to not be on rhythm, so he turned the music off.

“After each step there’s a bounce or pulse, where you straighten your knees a bit.” Dean said, he exaggerated the movement so Cas could see it more easily.

Cas copied but instead of the relaxed steps Dean was doing, he dropped his knees dramatically with each step, and then straightened his knees suddenly for each “bounce”. He moved like a broken wind-up toy soldier

Dean rolled his lips over his teeth and covered his mouth with his hand to keep the smile hidden from his face. He did his best to compose himself as Cas continued to practice his outrageous interpretation of the blue’s basic. Dean cleared his throat and dropped his hand.

“Right, you got it,” Dean said. Cas didn’t have it. But it was enough to move forward, so Dean turned the music back on. Seal’s voice once again broke into the room, distracting Dean from his friend’s awkward dancing abilities.

“Now try it to music, and this time try to relax. Don’t bend your knees as much.” Dean emphasized this by loosening his arms and making his pulse smaller and calmer.

Cas nodded and looked back down at his feet. Cas did as Dean told him. He didn’t bend his knees as much, and his posture slumped - not quite what Dean meant by relaxed, but it certainly gave the effect.

But inexplicably, Cas’s arms began to raise seemingly of their own accord, and suddenly he looked like a penguin trying to take off for its very first flight.

Dean lost it. His laugh sounded like a sharp snort as he tried to cut it off.

Cas’s eyes shot up from his feet and he immediately stopped moving.

“You’re laughing at me.” He looked more hurt than angry.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, smiling.

“This was a bad idea,” Cas said, dropping his arms and standing in his normal posture. He turned to leave, hiding a red hue on his cheeks.

Dean reached for his shoulder to stop him, feeling guilty yet out of control of the situation. It was too funny. How was he possibly expected to get through this when Cas moves like no other person has ever moved in their life? Had Dean’s girlfriend gone through this same problem? Hopefully not.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never taught this before,” he said, “I’m just not doing a good job.”

When Cas seemed appeased - though not entirely - Dean let his arm fall from Cas’s shoulder. He needed a different approach because clearly Cas was not getting it this way. When his girlfriend had taught him, he remembered that the first time he really understood it was when he actually danced with her. Feeling her body during the dance, being connected with her, made his own body mirror the movement.

But was he going to dance with _Cas_? Dean’s heart stuttered at the thought.

But he’d yelled at Cas and now he was laughing at him. It was the least he could do.

“I think I need to show you how it feels,” Dean said, holding down the nervousness blooming in his chest.

“What do you mean?” Cas said as his blush faded from his face. Then the edge of his lip quirked up. “Are you going to dance with me?”

“Yes but,” Dean held a finger out to Cas, “You don’t tell anyone about this.” But Dean held a smile behind his lips.

“Of course,” Cas said, holding a similar smile.

The room was dark except for propane lamps that lit up the walnut cabin walls and the setting sun that peaked through carefully covered windows. No one would be able to see inside, something Dean was always careful about from growing up with his paranoid father.

Dean dropped his finger and held out his hand. Cas’s hand slipped into his. While Dean’s hands were completely calloused over from fighting, repairing cars, building shelters, and climbing over barriers, Cas’s were soft. Cas did all the same activities that Dean did, but with his healing abilities callouses probably never had the chance to form. This wouldn’t last long now that his powers were fading.

“Now what?” Cas asked. His face was oddly relaxed. Like he didn’t really care so much about the answer to that question, as he cared about Dean’s reaction. As usual the scrutiny made Dean uncomfortable.

“I’m just going to put my hand on your back,” Dean said. Dean stepped in so that their faces were about a foot apart, and he slipped his hand under Cas’s arm and rested it on the dip between Cas’s shoulder blades. Cas’s arm hovered over it uncertainly.

“You can put your arm over mine. Just rest your hand on my shoulder,” Dean said, his voice quieter now. There was no reason to talk any louder now that they were so close. Still it felt odd to be talking so quietly.

Cas’s arm came down over his, it touched his skin like a feather, contacting but with no weight. Cas’s hand in his was the same. As if too much contact would hurt Dean.

“Good, now relax,” Dean said. He lightly shook Cas’s hand back and forth releasing some of the tension in his arms, “Give me little bit of your weight.”

“I don’t want to hurt your wound,” said Cas eyes on Dean’s injured arm.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the underside. You won’t hurt me.” Dean said. He had almost forgotten about that. It didn’t hurt right now, perhaps it was the alcohol.

Slowly Cas’s arms relaxed onto Dean’s, the heat of his skin sending waves of warmth up his arm. Cas’s shoulders drifted down, and his eyes moved from their connected hands up to Dean’s face, expectant.

While picking a lock, there is a moment where that stubborn tumbler clicks into place and the cylinder rotates, causing the door to unlock. Without fail it releases a small burst of satisfaction. That was what it felt like when Cas finally relaxed into Dean. Dean could feel exactly where Cas was: he could close his eyes and tell how much weight was on which foot and how far back Cas was on his heels.

“Exactly,” Dean breathed in triumph. He wasn’t sure what he had said that clicked, but it worked.

“Now I’m going to lead you. You just have to listen to what I’m signaling with this hand,” Dean shook his hand that held Cas’s, “and this,” he patted Cas’s back with his right hand. Cas nodded.

Dean moved into the basic step with Cas now in his arms. Cas caught on immediately this time. The sharp mechanical movements that Cas had displayed earlier disappeared, to be replaced with smooth steps that perfectly mirrored Dean’s. Cas picked up on the smallest of movements, whether Dean stepped larger or shorter, or if he moved a fraction closer. Cas seemed to have become an extension of his own body, moving and flowing the way Dean did. The feeling reminded Dean of the Impala, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, the engine humming beneath his fingertips, alive and waiting for his next move.

Dean frowned. This… shouldn’t be going so perfectly.

Experimentally, he changed the move. Instead of moving side to side he doubled the speed and moved them into a pivot turn. Perfect. Dean lead Cas around the small living room, and then lead Cas into a spin, which ended in Dean rolling Cas back into frame. Cas eyes flashed confusion, but otherwise followed the move. In fact, Cas followed all these moves without stumbling or hesitation, with no prior knowledge of them.

Dean stopped moving.

“Did I do something wrong?” Cas said, as his posture sagged, and Dean dropped his arms. The loss of that connection felt cold.

Dean scratched the back of his head trying to understand what just happened. One minute Cas was dancing like a drunk penguin and the next he was flawless.

“Cas, that was perfect.” Dean said.

Cas tilted his head. “Thank you,” he said hesitantly, clearly baffled by Dean’s reaction.

“No, I mean that was _perfect._ ” Dean said again. People just weren’t that perfect their first time dancing. For Dean it had taken several days and a very frustrated girlfriend to develop enough of a connection to lead her. But Cas seemed to connect and follow as if he’d been doing it for years.

Cas shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“You did moves I didn’t teach you,” Dean said, putting his hands on his hips. Dean pursed his lips. “You’re not messing with me, are you?” It was a really weird joke if Cas was, but Dean couldn’t think of another explanation.

Cas frowned and shook his head. His eyes danced around the room seeming to try to find the answer that Dean was looking for. “You didn’t teach it, but you showed it with your body.” Cas gestured at Dean’s torso.

Dean rolled his head considering. “Right but usually you have to be taught those signals first.” Dean wasn’t even that good of a leader, he hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time practicing while away from his girlfriend. How could Cas be picking up the signals so quickly? How did he know how to move his feet, when he could barely move them properly while practicing the basic on his own?

Cas sighed in sudden frustration. “Maybe its because I’m an angel then. _Was_ an angel. I don’t know.” He threw up his hands and looked away from Dean.

Guilt pinched his insides at _Was an angel._ Maybe Dean was overthinking this. People could be natural follows.

The song came to an end, and Cas was looking mildly frustrated and severely confused. The next track had higher energy, a fast-paced drum that reverberated in Dean’s chest, making him itch to move.

Cas glanced at the little CD player, then back at Dean. “One more song,” Cas said practically pleading. “I was enjoying that.”

Dean couldn’t help but agree. “Yeah alright angel,” Dean said, holding out his hand which Cas took, his face radiating relief. “But if you start dancing down a set of white stairs while singing ‘Beauty School Drop Out’, I’m going to bed.”

Cas face fell blank with eyes slightly widened, a look of such utter confusion that it made Dean laugh.

They reconnected, Cas’s arms draping themselves over Dean’s, and the tumbler once again clicked into place.

Dean tested Cas. He threw all the moves he could think of at him, starting with the easiest and working his way up to the more difficult. Different versions of spins, pretzels, and pivots. Cas followed everyone of them without fail. Occasionally he would glance up at Dean’s face with raised eyebrows, a question that seemed to say _Did I get that right?_ Dean would just nod at that. But, Cas didn’t always get the footwork right, it got him from point A to point B, but it didn’t have a flavor to it.

This meant Cas truly was just following Dean’s lead. He didn’t learn it from anywhere.

After a while Cas’s easy connection and the flirtatious, teasing music made Dean start to forget that he was supposed to be “teaching” Cas. Instead of thinking about the next pattern, Dean began just feeling the music. It seemed less like leading moves, and more like the music pulling them through different moves.

Hearing the song coming to a culmination, Dean pulled Cas close and pivoted them around to the fast high pitched trilling of the piano. It was enough to make Dean dizzy, and he knew Cas felt the same by how Cas’s fingers dug into his shoulder. As a sharp drum rhythm signaled the end of the song Dean pulled them out of the pivot turns and lead Cas into a dip. Cas frowned as he was tilted backward, neck remaining stiff.

“Tilt your head back, I got you,” Dean said. At that Cas relaxed into the dip, his neck arching backwards and hair falling from his face. With a smile Dean pulled Cas back up. Cas looked somewhat bewildered at the sudden change of pace, but otherwise unfazed.

“Unbelievable Cas,” Dean said, truly amazed at his friend’s talent. 

At that the bewildered expression fell, and Cas’s shoulders relaxed

“So, I did that correctly?” he asked.

“Yeah, all of it, perfect.” _as usual…_ Dean thought.

Dean’s attention was caught by a single guitar note that sliced through the room, which then wobbled and the notes fell into a sad riff. It was the only instrument being played and it seemed to echo against the walls of a dark empty room. The melody was sad and desperate, imploring anyone to listen to it. The drumbeat that kicked in a second later, was violent in contrast to the quiet of the guitar solo that was before. Dean was quickly being swept away by it and itched to dance.

“One more time?” Cas asked, also seeming to be swept away by the song.

Dean nodded, not wanting to interrupt the perfect melody.

This time when he reconnected with Cas, it was closer. Dean could distinctly feel the heat radiating in the small distance between them, and the forearm that was resting gently across Cas’s back. As the guitar cried one high pitched reverberating note, Dean lifted their frame as if taking a breath. Then released when the guitar dropped, and the steady bass rhythm kicked in. He stepped through the violent desperate rhythm of the drum and the guitar, the feeling penetrating through his skin. Cas seemed to be right there with him, a steady presence, moving with the same energy as he did, moving with the same emotion. He could feel it through their connection, almost as if their minds were connected, embodying this sad and violent emotion as two connected entities.

Dean was becoming hyper aware of only two things, Cas and the music. Everything else around him melted away . Dean shifted his arm, so it wrapped all the way around Cas’s back, so that they were chest to chest, the heat giving Dean goosebumps. Their heads, now so close, began to gently rest against each other. Cas’s disheveled hair tickled his cheek. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knew that he should be screaming at the intimacy, but those thoughts were far away, a feint echo drowned out in a deep canyon. It didn’t matter right now because the song called for it.

When the song wobbled and waned into its end, they slowly separated, Dean distinctly feeling the absence of Cas’s warmth.

Cas smiled. A smile like he’d woken up on a summer Sunday with nothing to do but bask in the sun.

“That was nice,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, apparently not able to speak loudly. Bringing that song to life with Cas made him release a tension he didn’t know he was holding, allowing him to breath easier. It was refreshing. Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah it was a good song.”

Another song came on and it was lighthearted and nothing like the previous track.

“We’ve probably finished half the CD,” Dean said. “Might as well finish it.”

Cas’s smile widened in surprise.

They continued dancing through the tracks of the CD. They never had a moment like they had with that last song. There was something about it that just spoke to them both. Instead, it was high energy and left Dean’s body humming with energy.

When the CD ended, they sat next to each other on the couch with two cups of water, both breathing heavily. The water tasted metallic, like bits of the sink were breaking down into the water. Dean finished it in three big gulps.

Dean put the cup down and leaned back into the arm of the couch and rested one leg up on the middle cushion. Dean’s heart was lighter than it had been in a long time. He felt like he was floating above all his problems, problems which, if he thought about them to closely, he’d come tumbling back down.

Cas was finishing his water. The hair on his lips had grown long enough that they dipped into the cup. When he finished, he wiped his mouth and the sweat glistening on his forehead with the sleave of his shirt. He leaned back and tucked a strand of hair behind his ears. Had he ever seen Cas sweat? Another sign he wasn’t an angel anymore, he thought with a pang of guilt.

Cas glanced at him, and Dean realized he’d been staring. Cas smiled anyway, not seeming to make any note of it.

“That reminded me of flying,” Cas said thoughtfully, rolling the empty cup in his hands.

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. He dug his heel into the rip in the center of the cushion. Some fluff popped out and he shoved it back in with his heel. “That good huh?” he said.

Cas nodded, but didn’t elaborate, simply contently stared at his cup.

Too curious not to ask, Dean said, “How so?”

Cas thought for a moment, then said, “Flying isn’t just moving from one destination to another. The wind lifts and shifts and buffets you until you’ve gotten to your destination. Dancing seems to be like that too, except there is no destination.”

It made Dean a little uneasy that dancing could mean so much to Cas, though he wasn’t sure why. Despite that a spark of pleasure went through him, knowing that he’d helped Cas in some way.

“So does that make me the wind?” Dean said.

Cas smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased.

The light in the room began to flicker and Dean immediately tensed. He looked for any nearby weapons – the iron poker by the fireplace, the gun on the table, the angel blade – but then he realized it was just the gas lamp running out of fuel. He made to stand up, but Cas beat him to it, and he was headed toward the kitchen to get a new propane canister. Dean relaxed, and lifted his other leg onto the couch, leaning heavily into the arm. Maybe he’d sleep here tonight, just to change it up. Even though this couch was dusty and smelled faintly of body odor, it was really comfortable.

Cas came back and unscrewed the old canister, casting them in shadow. When he attached the new canister, the light flickered on, now more solid and bright. Cas squinted at the light as he finished screwing the canister back on, and the bright filament reflected in his eyes making it look like they were blazing from within. An orange glow was cast over him and made the hairs that framed his face glint like they were about the catch fire.

Cas set the lamp down in its previous spot on the table by the couch and looked back at Dean.

Some emotion passed over his eyes, a twitch of his brows. Something that Dean couldn’t identify. Curiosity? Dean shifted his gaze to the lamp and stared at it until the bright light burned into his retinas. Cas sat back down.

A big blue dot now danced in his vision, and he blinked until it became a faint glow.

“Are you ever going to find Sam?” Cas said.

It was like a punch in the gut, completely unexpected and ripped the breath from his lungs. They _didn’t_ talk about Sam.

“What?” he said breathlessly.

Cas opened his mouth and Dean – now pissed – quickly cut him off. “No. I heard you.”

Cas shut his mouth.

Dean shook his head, “What – where did that come from?”

Dean asked it but he didn’t even want to hear the answer. He hadn’t thought about Sam in ages. He had him carefully tucked away in a locked box of _things Dean Winchester does not think about._ Now that it was ripped out, it seemed to be clawing at his insides.

And to think he’d been _happy_ a second go. Nice of Cas to ruin it.

Cas frowned at him, seeing his change of mood, even looking apologetic. He answered hesitantly, “The way you acted this evening. It … reminded me of when you were with Sam.”

He’d taught Sam a few moves once when they were young. What did that have to do with anything? “The hell are you talking about?”

Again, Cas looked hesitant, but he continued. “You used to be … more sensitive.”

Dean raised his eyebrows not believing what he was hearing.

“You’re more unemotional now, closed off,” Cas said. “Except for few moments ago. It was nice seeing that part of you again.”

Seriously? Cas was fucking analyzing him? Dean clenched his jaw and tried to control his breathing. Cas looked like he knew he was doing something wrong, but he continued on anyway.

“I just,” he said. “I think you need Sam.”

Dean stood up. He tried to stop himself from kicking something. He didn’t need Sam, they’d established it a long time ago. They were both better off alone.

“ _Don’t_ bring this up again,” he said. He stomped to his room and slammed his door as hard as he could. It banged loudly.

Dean proceeded to not sleep at all the rest of the night.

Fuck Cas.

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is a bit grumpy, huh?
> 
> Please leave a review! Its my bread and butter
> 
> Song that they danced to: "What in the World" by Rory Gallagher


End file.
